My Aging Metabolism

I’m getting older. As if working with a bunch of underage teens has not helped me with this realization, for the last few weeks, I’ve had unsolicited email notifications blowing the fuck out of my phone with these taunting words in the subject line: Your Aging Metabolism.

I could be wrong here, but I do believe that repeatedly sending emails to a potential customer badgering her about her worst dread is just bad advertising. What is it about “Your Aging Metabolism” that makes this asinine company think I would ever respond, and in a positive way to their dim-witted emails?!? Surely, said company is hoping to sell me bottle water from the mythical Fountain of Youth, or whatever magical potion that makes Christopher Meloni maintain his Adonis-like good looks; it seems to me their attempts would be more successful were they to fawn over my general fabulosity, rather than mentioning a little flaw I may or may not even deal with.

I have decided I will respond to them in a blog post…

To the Displeasing Ones It May Concern,

I have received a good many of your emails. Unfortunately (for you), I have opened none of them. I’ve no desire to buy whatever the fuck it is you may be selling, since you have been impertinent enough to remind me of “my aging metabolism”-  a matter that I have little to no control over.

Let me tell you something, you inconsiderate assfaces. My metabolism quit aging when I was ten. My metabolism was thought to be about 107 years old, judging by the pictures of me at that time. Yes, I may have lost my “baby fat” when I was a teen, but that was mostly due to not eating for about four years, and exercising instead of sleeping.

Since you have been so kind to call to mind that I’m getting older, we may as well assume that my metabolism is about 500 years old now. Which means there’s nothing you can do about me getting fat in my old age; I plan on eating the French fries that cross my path, and not foregoing the cake Marie Antoinette so graciously said I should eat. No pill advertised by dumbasses like you will be able to save me.

For future reference, next time you want to try to manipulate unsuspecting victims, try something along the lines of “Let us help you maintain your amazingness”. Not “Buy our shit, Fat ass”, which is essentially the advertising you went with. If you wish to fire your ad execs and hire me, I would consider gracing you with my talents; however, at this point, I’d be charging you up the butt.

I will let you know that I most certainly will tell every person I know who receives emails about your shenanigans, and urge them to also completely ignore your abhorrent behavior.

Love Never,

Sparklebumps